20
My Kingdom for A Do-Over
TJ
This was a rookie mistake.
Jude Graham is not only the most charismatic man I’ve ever known. He’s the most charismatic man in all of England.
And I’m the dumbass who let him loose on the London population.
I wish I could reboot the last several hours. Erase them from existence and start over at Samuel Johnson’s house.
Because my stupid idea led to this.
Men in the bar stare at Jude unabashedly.
The swoony Brit leans against the sleek silver counter, surveying a kingdom of cocks, ready for his choosing. He sets a hand on my shoulder, ever so casually. My skin sears from his touch. He gestures casually to a guy at the other end of the bar, a dark-haired dude wearing a tight white tank. Tribal tattoos circle his beefy arms. He’s muscular—Jude’s type. “What do you think about the guy over there? He’s got hot alpha written all over him, don’t you think?” Jude asks, charm dripping from his tongue.
I just grunt, Sure.
My wingman swings his gaze the other way, hums appreciatively at a group of guys, then whispers in my ear, “Check out the suit at three o’clock. He’s perfect for you, TJ,” he says, and his breath coasts across my skin sensually, but the knife of his words stabs my chest.
Where is a do-over button when you need it? But this is life, not a chapter I can start again. I can only get through this.
“Let’s go for it,” I rasp out, and I’m not even sure what I’m suggesting, that he talks to the inked guy or I talk to the suit?
But it doesn’t matter because they’re both heading our way. We are the hunted tonight. With his easy smile and casual pose, Jude is giving off all the pick-me-up vibes in the city. The tatted man licks his lips as he strides right up to my roomie.
“Hey there. Can I get you a drink?” the inked guy asks.
“As long as it’s a martini,” Jude says, flirting his fucking ass off.
“Anything for you,” the man says, then sets a hand on Jude’s shoulder and guides him a few feet away.
From me.
Jude leaves his beer behind, and it feels like a metaphor.
Great, now I’m comparing myself to a half-drunk beer.
Can this night please end, so I can go home and wallow in regret with my earbuds? I deserve a double dose of Zeppelin and The Allman Brothers Band.
I clench my fists, dig my nails into my palm. Breathing out hard, I try to get a grip on my emotions as the man in the suit comes my way. How can anyone be attracted to me tonight? Isn’t it obvious I’m drowning in a boiling vat of self-loathing mixed with jealousy?
“Great bar, isn’t it?” the suit says.
It’s a decent opener since it’s simple and not cringe-y. But it won’t work on me because he’s not Jude.
“Yeah, it’s a cool spot,” I say so that I’m not a dick.
And fuuuuck.
My mind lands on the great dick convo with Jude as the suit peppers me with questions.
Where are you from?
Do you like this song?
How’s your night?
I respond half-heartedly with monosyllabic answers, sneaking glances at Jude the whole time. Swirling his martini, Jude laughs and smiles. It’s a dance of seduction as the inked guy grins and runs a hand down my roomie’s arm.
I burn everywhere. I want to throttle that guy touching Jude.
“Earth to the American.”
I snap my attention to the suit. I’m an ass. “Hey. Sorry, man.”
“Can I give you a tip?” the suit asks.
I brace myself for a cold send-off. I deserve it. “Sure.”
The suit leans in, whispers in my ear, “You should just tell him you’re into him, mate.”
“Shit, I’m really sorry.”
He smiles. “Been there. Just get your man.”
“He’s not mine . . .”
The suit lifts a playful brow. “Not yet.” He drops a chaste kiss to my cheek and walks away.
Like acting on his advice is all too easy.
But I have to do this. It’s necessary. As necessary as writing the next chapter in my book. Drawing a fortifying breath, I turn around, march over to Jude, and do what I should have done earlier today. Tell it like it is. “We’re leaving.”
Jude snorts. “But the fun just started, roomie.”
The inked man drapes a possessive arm around my roommate and squeezes. “Don’t steal Jude from me.”
Yeah, some things are easy. Like this. “He’s taken,” I say to the guy.
Then I take what I want. Jude. I pull him outside into a stormy Sunday night in London. Fat raindrops pelt my head.
Jude stares hard at me. “What the hell was that about, TJ? This was your fucking idea.”
“And it was the worst idea ever,” I spit out.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have suggested it,” he counters, his voice full of fire.
“You’re damn right I shouldn’t have.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I do think that.”
“So why the bloody hell did you?”
“Because I thought it would make things easier between us,” I say, or maybe I seethe. I’m still mad, but not at Jude.
I’m mad at myself.
For my supreme act of stupidity.
The sky flings water harder, and Jude slashes a lock of hair off his forehead. More drops slide down his face.
“And did it, roomie? Did it make things between us easier?”
“No, it made them harder,” I say as I try to rewrite the ending to tonight.
“What a shock. I’d never imagined trying to hook you up with another man would be difficult.”
I’ve got to break this cycle. I have to stop fighting with him. I have to say it. “I made a mistake,” I mutter, starting down the path of honesty.
“I didn’t hear you,” he says as the rain lashes us, as cars rush by, as truths rise on the edge of my tongue.
“It was a stupid mistake,” I say, louder, clearer. “My idea was a terrible way to deal with things.” Admitting it lessens some of the tension in me.
“Then get a better idea,” Jude huffs, locking his hard and fierce eyes on me.
It’s time. I go for it. I close the distance in seconds flat, lift my hands, hold his face. “This is a much better idea.”
I seal my lips on his, and I don’t hold back. I pour everything I have into this kiss. It’s like ten thousand kisses. It’s all the kisses in the city. All the times I’ve thought of Jude. All the longing. All the desire.
With my lips, I tell him all the things I won’t say out loud. The sentences form in my head.
I have a massive crush on you.
I can’t get you out of my head.
I’m a little bit crazy for you.
He tastes like he’s a little crazy for me too.
He kisses fearlessly, sweeping those lush lips over mine, nipping, biting, tugging.
Groans pass between our mouths like sips of a drink—a bottle shared back and forth for us to consume.
This kiss is everything we held back in the park. It’s everything I wanted on that bench. On a rainy night in London, all the checked restraint washes away on the sidewalk as Jude wraps his arms around my neck and I hold his face in my hands.
We don’t stop. We speed up, asking for more, throwing in the white flag of surrender completely.
I spear my tongue into his mouth, devouring his taste. My God, I want to claim him everywhere. Map his body with my mouth.
His tongue strokes mine and he tugs me against him, and we are unstoppable. I gasp into his mouth as our cocks rub together, rock-hard through our jeans.
My brain pops, and my skin sizzles, and somewhere in my mind, I’m aware that we’re soaking wet on the streets of London after midnight, and neither one of us cares.
I never want to stop kissing him. But I do want to know all the flavors of his kiss, so I slow down, tug on his bottom lip.
And I shudder. Everywhere. More, more, my mind begs. Don’t stop—my heartbeat echoes.
I downshift into a slow, indulgent kiss, and in seconds, he’s moaning into my mouth.
His sounds electrify my senses as I take a long, lingering tour of his lush mouth, lick the corner of his lips, then press a gentle, druggy kiss right there.
“Ohhhh,” he murmurs and grinds against me, seeking contact. Seeking me. Inside, I smile wickedly. I’m kissing Jude, and he’s coming apart under my touch.
I don’t care about anything but getting him naked and into my bed.
We wrench apart. I stare hungrily at this man with the swollen lips and drenched hair. We’re both soaking wet. “Have you seen my shower curtain? It’s really perky.”
Jude’s smile is dirty and delicious. “Show it to me.”